


Dragon Fire

by wingedthing



Category: Warcraft, World of Warcraft
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, sex with dragons in human form, tumescence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedthing/pseuds/wingedthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a cold night in Pandaria, Anduin seeks warmth in the arms of the Black Prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragon Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I am supremely hesitant to call this "underage" because I wasn't thinking of Anduin as being underage when I wrote it... I figured it's set some time in the future, though I tried to leave that vague and up to the interpretation of the reader. I'm less concerned about Wrathion's age because come on. From the moment he hatched, he set about plotting the murders of all his remaining relatives and is pulling the strings of both the Horde and Alliance in a very impressive way. If there's any innocence left to him, it's certainly not being stolen by Anduin, and I think he's more than capable of understanding and expressing consent.
> 
> But the bigger concern, for me, was with Anduin's age, since despite him having a LOT of experience with the world, he's still portrayed as relatively young and innocent in ways that Wrathion is not. So for my own sake, this takes place several years in the future, when he's had a chance to mature some and lose some of that boyishness. 
> 
> As always, however, interpret this timeline however you like.

The mountains of Pandaria are nearly arctic at night, a rime of frost creeping along the sills and bows of open windows. The wind that pours between the wood is frigid, biting and tingling against the prince's skin. He turns his face away from the window, buries it in the dark smoke and spice scent that curls around him in the form of his companion's arms. The arms are smooth and sable, skin pulled taut over corded muscle and veins that pulse just beneath the surface. The prince traces the veins up the sable arms to the rise and fall of the over warm chest to the jugular and carotid and up to the face, smiling and relaxed in sleep, undisturbed by the chill night air.

His partner's nearly violet lips are parted, wisps of smoke or steam curling into the darkness as he breathes. The prince can see, just barely, the dagger teeth that bit down on his shoulder to suppress louder sounds of pleasure just hours before and curled up in an unapologetic smile as a hot red tongue cleaned the blood from the wound. The same red tongue had drawn shudders from the prince as it worked against him in ways he could never dream of replicating, and the prince had clenched his pale fingers in his partner's dark curls and he had forgotten the pride of their typical banter and he had begged. His partner, delighting in the reactions he created, relented after a spell, joining lips and tongue until the prince felt heavy and exhausted, unable to do more than twitch and curl against his partner with a weary smile.

One red eye opens to look down at the prince, and the violet lips curl upwards in a smile, lazier and less guarded than the expression his partner wears in the hours of wakefulness. His hand lifts from the prince's shoulder to his blonde hair, fingers twisting through to the base of his skull until he can shift them both into a long kiss that dissipates into sleep moments later. The prince, still too cold to sleep himself, nuzzles against his partner's chest and neck, both impossibly hot despite their relative stillness, and seeks warmth there. When sleep continues to evade him, he lets his hand wander, down the rising and falling chest, past the navel and between the grooves where legs meet torso. 

Can he repay the pleasure given to him hours ago? He is a prince and not unused to intimacy, but this encounter has been something else entirely, something his most dizzying dreams could not concoct. Does he dare even try?

He brushes the tips of his fingers against the flaccid cock, finding it as warm as the rest of his partner's body and as responsive as he'd hoped, hardening under the coolness of his touch in seconds. The prince has a moment of hesitation as his partner stirs in his sleep, moans softly, and is still, though the flickering pulse in his veins has visibly quickened, even in the pale blue light of the midnight moon. 

The prince takes a deep breath, dizzy again with the heady scents of spice and smoke, and wraps his fingers around the length of his companion, stroking slowly from base to tip. He's pleased at the response he elicits--another quiet moan that turns to a growl as his partner's hips rise encouragingly, the muscles of his legs tightening beneath the sable skin. His partner's back arches, and his hands travel downward, wrapping around the prince's hand and stilling it. The prince looks up to see that he's awakened the sleeping dragon, who lifts his hands to place on the prince's shoulders and ease him downward. 

The prince allows himself no further hesitation, grazing his lips over sable skin until he reaches his goal--the tumescent shaft, the ebony head that gains a sheen when he runs his tongue over it and elicits a snarl from his partner. That snarl is all the encouragement he needs to take his partner as deep in his mouth as he can, though it's nowhere near as deep as he would like. He forces himself not to gag as the head brushes against his soft palate and adjusts his mouth accordingly, exhaling through his nose and beginning to move. 

After the snarl, his partner has fallen silent, though his silence is not a lack of response. His long fingers find a place in the prince's hair once again, sharp nails scratching against his scalp in a manner that sends a chill down the prince's spine and almost causes him to forget what he's doing completely. Still, he presses on, the only sounds in the room the rustle of the bedclothes as his partner stiffens and writhes underneath him and the smack of his tongue and lips as he sucks ever-harder, determined to bring his partner as much enjoyment as he experienced hours before.

Whether due to the prince's inexperience or his own stamina, his partner holds out for longer than the prince expected, and his cheeks are sore by the time he hears a growl and feels his partner's thighs stiffen as his only warning. He braces himself and relaxes just in time for his partner to come against the back of his throat, hotter than the prince would have expected. It's the surprising heat and not the action itself that causes him to jerk back before his partner is finished, and the result is a sticky mess on his lips and chest and an expression on his face quite like a rabbit staring down a wolf. He looks so ridiculous that his partner, chest still heaving and limbs still shuddering, cracks up laughing and rests his hands on the prince's hips.

"My fault, O prince," he says, the closest he's come to an apology in all the time they've known each other. "I should have warned you ahead of time about the true extent of a dragon's fire."


End file.
